


Independence

by APHTrashbin (verfens)



Series: Virago [2]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Gen, Nyotalia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-08
Updated: 2014-10-08
Packaged: 2018-02-20 10:24:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2425244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verfens/pseuds/APHTrashbin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Men kick friendship around like a football but it doesn't seem to break. Women treat it like glass and it goes to pieces.”<br/>- Anne Morrow Lindbergh.   Rose Kirkland's view of how her beloved, Emily Jones, left her.  American War of Independence Centered!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Independence

They were at dinner when she suggested it first- that accursed phrase.

It had been a long voyage, taking several months to make it back to her colony, and she had come home only to see her darling girl had grown up. Rose Kirkland, the personification of England, nearly dropped her teacup. But she was a proper woman. 

“I…I want to be independent!” Emily said suddenly. Rose stared at her, before she laughed softly. 

“You simply must be joking, Emily dear.” England said, voice lofty. “There’s no way you would last as a nation. You know nothing of politics.” She took another sip of her tea, trying desperately to shield how nervous she was. No way in hell was Emily wanting to break free! Did she detest England that much?

“I know enough to know my people don’t like you all that much anymore.” She mumbled, and the teacup broke in Rose’s hand. 

“Your people?” She said, voice edging on anger, fury being one of her ugly features. “You mean, my people? They are colonists. My colonists.” She corrected sharply, huffing in her finery. Emily winced, looking down at her food. 

“Yes Ma’am.” She said, sighing, before England gestured haughtily to her broken cup, and staining dress. Emily got up, shoulders drooping as she wiped crumbs off her plain brown dress and beige apron. Her hair was up and out of the way, neat and crisp. 

XXXXX

Where England thought she had seen the end, had only been the beginning. 

Emily was back at home, embroidering, where she had left her last on her visit to some…unsavory characters. Rose, in contrast was standing to the side in a conservative dress, ruffles coming off her back and down to the ground, but otherwise, relatively form fitting. Her soldiers, led by noble Captain Thomas Preston, were walking with her, with the people shouting at them and her, jeering and using awful language. 

Why Emily identified with these people was beyond England.

It was March 5, 1770. 

The Twenty-Ninth Regiment was coming to the relief of the Eighth on duty at the Customs House on King Street. 

Captain Preston was unable to disperse the crowd and as they chanted and screamed at her troops.   
“Fire and be damned!" One man was getting up in Rose’s face, making her sneer at him. 

Preston tried to gain control. "Don't Fire!" He shouted.

Shots went out into the air despite this. The soldiers had opened fire on the crowd.

Alarm went through Rose as she saw a familiar face in the crowd falling to the street. She pushed the soldiers that were at her side away, and told the colonists to move out of her way or be damned, voice growing in anger and alarm and fear, such terrible fear. 

No! It couldn’t be!

But, despite this, she couldn’t deny the blood coming out of her colony. The crowd dispersed as Rose desperately cried out. “Emily, Emily, Emily!” She felt tears gather at the corners of her eyes. She gathered up the girl before she could wake up, running far away from the stares of the people remaining, her soldiers and colonists alike. 

There was no doubt that she was dead, hanging in Rose’s arms like a doll. Rose prepared herself, guarding her heart from any fear in Emily’s eyes, dropping her body to the ground without care. 

When the young girl’s eyes fluttered open, Rose slapped her hard. Voice furious, green eyes poisonous, “How dare you!” She exclaimed. “Stupid, misbehaving child! You will march right home and not come out of your room for a fortnight!” Her voice had raised 3 octaves in her screaming at Emily. 

And fear there was. Her hair had come out of its tight bun, her blue eyes terrified. But she found courage in herself despite the poison dripping off England’s whole form.

“I want to be independent, England.” Emily’s voice was shaky at first, but she found the will to be strong. “And that place will never be home again. You killed them. And you killed me. That place will never again be my home.”

England stared, and she could not deny the blood that left her face. “You will go to our estate. Now.” Her voice was icy, leaving no room for Emily to argue. 

“Fine, England.” She growled, shakily getting up onto her feet as England stood over her. 

“You will be punished when we arrive back at our estate.” Rose finished, trying to remain calm now that her darling girl looked like she was definitely alive, bullet holes stitched up with skin.

Emily left, resolve replaced by fear, and Rose softened when she heard her breathing rate increase with tears as the girl rushed out to undoubtedly attain her horse. She almost reached out for her, but did not.

It was only proper. 

XXXXX

It was only a mild punishment- a figurative slap on the wrist. Emily was sent to bed without dinner, and given more chores in the house. Had she been a mother, she would have undoubtedly done worse. Had she a husband, she would have had the girl beaten. But neither of these things defined Rose Kirkland. 

She was Emily’s big sister, beyond her owner. 

Rose tried to bridge the gap between her and her darling. But the days grew long, and the nights grew cold. She had to go back to England, her true home, eventually.

As she left to board the ship, she brought Emily with her. The girl had grown cold in recent times. 

She turned to face her, smiling a little nervously. “My dear, dear girl.” She said, simply. “You know I love you, don’t you?” She asked, tilting her head to the side, wearing her white powdered wig. 

“Yes Ma’am.” Emily replied. 

When Rose boarded the ship, she tried to convince herself those weren’t hollow words.

XXXXX

In 1772, she and her King heard news that would shake them to the core. One of their naval officers was being pursued for “illegally” seizing goods, after having been attacked by colonists that were out of line. When she saw the name of one of the people who called for his court order, she frowned. 

“Emily.” England growled, telling her boss she needed to go back over to America. He allowed it, telling her to get his colony in line before he needed to eliminate the threat. 

…. Would he kill Emily? Her skin paled, and her breathing went fast as she left the room. She had to calm down and figure this out. 

When Rose arrived at her colony, she came upon a scene. Duddington could name his attackers, and she growled when she heard Emily’s name among them. Would the stupid girl ever learn? England wished for the days when Emily had been completely dependent on her. It was only too bad for Emily that England knew now she had disobeyed again. 

When she got back to her estate in the colony, Rose was shocked to see that Emily was out in the field, working. She inquired about this, and the man said simply, “The wench needed to be taught a lesson.”

England slapped him, going to get the silly girl out of this punishment. Men- but despite her anger, she had always gotten along better with them. 

She walked elegantly down the field, and spotted where her darling girl was literally slaving in the cotton fields. 

Rose was again shocked when she saw how easily Emily was speaking with the other slaves. 

Wait, England thought suddenly. Why was she thinking that…America was a slave?

Emily. She would not call her that, since Emily was only a colony. She didn’t have the title of a nation. And her darling girl was no slave. She was Rose’s little sister. But a colony was property of a nation, her inner devil pointed out. And she did consider Emily to be her property. Wouldn’t that mean... She would not allow herself to think that through. A-Emily was hers. Her territory, her sister. 

“Emily,” England called for her, getting hot in the sun. “Do come in, away from these…” She made an unsavory noise. 

“Oh?” Emily said after Rose called a second time. “So now you want me back?” Furious blue eyes looked to Rose accusingly. “And what were you going to call them?” 

“Slaves, dear. We don’t associate with them.” England said this like it was obvious. 

“I think you’re the slave.” Emily accused. “A slave to an old way of thinking!” England made a noise of disapproval. 

“Now, Emily, don’t speak like that.” Her voice was lofty. “What do you, a girl of your age, know of politics?”

“Enough to know I could break free from you by force.” She growled, and Rose glared. 

“Come along, ignorant child.” She was purposefully snooty, blocking out her hurt. 

XXXXX

The girl only grew bolder in days to come. She had joined a group called the “Sons of Liberty”, despite being a girl, of perhaps 12 years physically. 

When the East India Company was suffering, England’s Lord North passed the Tea Act. It was just supposed to help her company, and try and soothe the colonies, since they would be able to buy tea cheaper. 

But what happened in the following December made Rose’s vision go red. How dare the insolent child!

Rose had been entering the harbor on her own ship, when she saw an act of civil disobedience. 

They were thinly disguised as Indians. But they were also mostly men- with one exception of a girl with an actual Indian with her-likely a personification. 

“Emily.” She growled, elegantly leaving her ship as the girl laughed, throwing chest after chest into the harbor. 

When the girl snuck home, England was waiting for her. She lit a candle, lighting the room, shadows eerily long in the dim light. 

“Sir, 30 lashings to start.” She pointed a finger at the young girl, whose blue eyes went wide. 

“What?” Emily asked, confused. “L-Lashings?”

“That was hundreds of dollars you personally threw away.” England said, getting up and showing her personal executioner the criminal. “You should know that you are lucky- you are not being hanged.” 

The blood had left her darling girls face. England had to turn away as she screamed and struggled, being dragged outside to receive her punishment. But this was the easiest thing she could get her boss to agree on. 

When England’s personal executioner finished with the stupid, foolish young girl, blood ran down her back like a river. Emily was crying, and crying hard. It was making Rose feel bad now. She had ordered this in anger, and now couldn’t take it back…no. She tried though.

“Do you have anything to say to me?” Rose asked gently, and she took off her pure white gloves, and tried to put her hand on Emily’s back.

“I h-HATE you!” She screamed, pushing Rose’s hand of peace away, sobs made anew as blue eyes watched her fearfully, hatefully. 

“Mm.” England said, irritation growing on her face, pain in her heart. “Another 20 then. I always like the sound of 50 lashes.” Her voice was detached at the end of it, but Emily would not notice this. This was what was good for Emily. Best to beat out disobedience now, before it got out of hand. 

“Monster! Tyr-AH!” Emily was cut off as the whip hit her raw, bleeding skin. 

England simply went back inside, acting haughty and uncaring. Fine. Let the girl hate her. Rose would be waiting for her when she came back to her senses, and then things could be like the 1500’s again, with her darling girl letting Rose be her big sister, blue eyes loving, a gentle smile on her face. 

Yes, that was right. Emily had chosen her to do this all for her. This right had been given to her. She had ought to do better to preserve that right. 

An idea came to her, and though it sat uneasily in her heart, she reminded herself this was for Emily’s own good. Rose went to the girl’s plainly furnished bedroom, and to her wardrobe. It had one dress for formal functions, and her other everyday clothing. Her current ones were bloodstained and torn, holes from bullets in the dress, and otherwise just ruined. 

How could the girl leave her if she had nothing to wear outside the house?

She brought them outside, to where Emily was recovering from the whipping, placed all her clothing onto the wet ground. She took out the matches in her pocket, and lit one. She dropped it onto the flammable fine dress- the only one Emily had ever owned. She grabbed the dress Emily had been wearing earlier, stained and bullet-ridden, and added it to the fire. 

Rose saw new tears gather in Emily’s eyes, but the girl didn’t speak out again. When Rose asked her once more if she had anything to say, she said, “No Ma’am.” Not the answer she had wanted, but she would accept it for now, get an apology later, and only then would England apologize for the punishment of her disobedience. 

Her darling girl was left in the mud, her shift red and brown as England went back inside in her tight proper green gown, trying to stifle her tears. 

She knew she had gone too far now. There was no going back. 

XXXXX

She had to go back to her nation, unable to deal with Emily’s fearful looks towards her, and on her boss’s orders. 

She wasn’t informed about the various acts that were being passed, but she assumed the colonists were being punished. 

It wasn’t for over a year before she was allowed to go back over the sea. Her captain was having a talk with his crew about the “crazy” colonists. “It’s finally broken out in war, see?” He sneered. “Americans.”

Rose paled. “What did you say, Captain?” 

“I figured you would have known already, Madame.” He said, respectfully. “Commodore, your colony has revolted. That’s why we’re being sent over. To give more soldiers to the cause- our goal is to take back land for his Majesty and your Greatness.”

She fell back, and her crew caught her. “Oh no.” She murmured. “She was being serious all this time.”

“Who was?” Her captain asked. “Is there…well, one of you for the colony?”

“Yes.” Rose murmured, faint. 

“Well, the problem and solution are obvious then! You simply have to kill them!” He tried to lighten her mood, but what came to mind was back in Boston, when she had seen Emily get shot, and back at their estate, where she had had Emily whipped.

“I will not kill Emily. She’s…my younger sister.” She tried to explain. “My colony.”

“But in order to make it truly yours, you have to kill the indigenous population.” He said, and it made sense to her head, but made her heart hurt. “That’s what we did with the Indians! Remember?”

She nodded, closing her eyes. 

“Besides, it’s just another personification. You’ve told me you’ve killed hundreds of upstarts in your nation and colonies.”

Emily’s bright smile and wheat-blonde hair, her sky blue eyes looking up at her trustingly. 

“You should have killed her when she was younger.” Another crew member spoke out. “After all, if there was no representation, then they had no ground to stand on in being a nation!”

“Let’s go home.” A sweet young voice picking her over France. 

“I don’t have to kill her.” She said, trying to convince herself. “I just have to break her spirit. She was always too wild at heart.”

But what would that leave Rose with?

XXXXX

Battle after battle occurred, years passed before she saw the girl again. But she was hard to recognize. She had shaven her head, leaving nothing but peach fuzz behind. She had exchanged her…wait, England had burned those….she was now wearing MEN’s clothing. It was a scandal! Who did she think she was, Prussia?!

…Apparently, since “an albino” was training the girl according to loyalist spies. 

“England!” She said, powerful. “I want to be independent!”

It was raining. 

Her braided hair was falling out of the fashion, and she was standing by herself. The Americans had won this battle, once again. 

America was standing there, soldiers, her minutemen standing behind her. 

Her rifle was pointed right at England, Rose’s having been broken and tossed to the side. 

“Kill the girl.” Her king had ordered. 

She took out her sword, and charged. It was at the girls neck when she stopped. She had swung it carefully, and now that it was at her throat, she realized. 

Blue eyes stared at her fearfully. She was still a child. She saw her darling girl in this wild woman, and she dropped her sword, falling to her knees. 

“Why, dammit? Why wasn’t I good enough for you?!” She exclaimed, her voice going shrill as tears ran down her face.

“England…Rose…” Emily said, no, America said. “You used to be so…. big.” 

Her darling girl was dead, she told herself that as America walked away.

XXXXX

Years passed before they saw each other again. America had invaded Canada, and England had a cruel idea to get revenge on the girl for the pain she had caused England’s heart. 

“I hate you.” America choked on the smoke coming from her mouth, clutching at her burning left breast. “I hate you so much, you fucking cunt!”

“And I don’t care.” She towered above her. England was an empire on the rise. She didn’t have time for people in her life who were this stupid and weak. “You are independent.” She bit out, reminding her of what she had once had. 

At least, she told herself she didn’t care as she took Meg away, Meg not looking back at her sister. 

She heard Emily’s cries of pain and sorrow, and saved hers for her pillow later that night.

After diplomacy ended, Canada and America were no longer in good standing with each other. America was isolated. That had been the goal…right?

100 years passed before they spoke again.


End file.
